


unafraid

by yukjaem



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Self-Discovery, Taeyong-centric, implied dotae yutae and jaeyong, mafia boss johnny, mentioned Homophobia, office worker taeyong, uni student Taeyong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24618220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukjaem/pseuds/yukjaem
Summary: taeyong can't help it if his first crush happens to be a mafia boss.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 34
Kudos: 503





	unafraid

Ever since he was little, Taeyong always preferred keeping to himself, too shy to engage with the other kids. During recess, he sat quietly in the shade under a tree, going through his book of Pokemon cards he’d collected. Whenever the other boys asked him to play soccer with them, he always ignored them. They stopped asking after a while.

When he was in third grade, the girl sitting beside him asked if he had an extra pencil she could borrow. She promised to repay him with not one, but _two_ chocolate chip cookies. Taeyong loved sweet things and he wanted to say yes, but his shyness overcame him and he shook his head, avoiding her gaze. She frowned, clearly seeing his open pencil case with at least three other pencils in pretty shades of pink, blue, and yellow. She must have thought he was acting selfish.

She never talked to him since.

In elementary school, he was the shy kid no one liked.

In middle school, he was the nerd everyone bullied.

Then his parents sent him to an all-boys high school, hoping it’ll get him to open up, or at least stop the bullying. Things changed in high school.

“You’re so lucky you’re good-looking, Taeyong,” Yongsik sighs, eyeing the pastel blue letter with little heart stickers that Taeyong slides into his binder. It had been given to him, in full view of everyone, by a pretty girl from the neighbour all-girls high school.

“Maybe if you showered more often,” Taeyong replies sincerely, trying not to wrinkle his nose.

He takes his phone out of his jacket and idly taps on his keyboard. Now that he’s older, his shyness is no longer something to be pitied or scorned by his classmates, but rather admired. With his sharp features and aristocrat-like beauty, they mistake his quiet nature for aloofness, honesty for sarcasm.

Around him and Yongsik, the other boys laugh. One of them throws an arm around Taeyong’s shoulders until Taeyong looks up, uncomfortable with the sudden closeness. The guy backs off.

“You don’t even care about those letters,” Yongsik accuses, flushing red. He points rudely at Taeyong. His crumpled uniform seems to flutter around him like a cat’s fur standing on end.

Taeyong frowns. “What do you mean?”

Even if he never replies, he reads every one of them. They tend to say the same thing. _I like you. Be my boyfriend. Please accept my feelings._ He’s kind of tired of it, to be honest. He wonders what the girls see in him besides his good looks, but he’s never had the courage to ask them.

If there’s one thing his parents did right, it’s sending him to an all-boys school. He can’t imagine how much worse it would be if there were girls here, in his classes and roaming the halls. They make him feel uneasy and he always feels like they’re talking about him behind his back. His older sister makes fun of him for feeling this way.

Yongsik narrows his eyes. “You never reply to them. What, you’re too good for every chick out there?”

“You can have my letter if you want it so bad,” Taeyong tries.

“That’s not what I fucking meant!”

Yongsik’s voice brings the attention of the other students. Taeyong’s suddenly hyper-aware of the eyes on them, the rest of the class quieting down. He ducks his head slightly, not liking being in the centre of attention.

Yongsik, however, looks pleased. He looks as if he’s been waiting for a long time for this moment to happen.

Taeyong distantly wonders when he made this guy his enemy.

“Maybe you really do think you’re too good for all those girls,” Yongsik says, voice saccharine sweet. The effect is broken by how obviously he wants everyone around to hear. “Maybe you bat for the other team. You prefer sucking cock, huh, Taeyong?”

The boys around them laugh. Yongsik grins winningly.

Taeyong stares unseeingly at his phone screen.

Soon enough, rebukes come Yongsik’s way. _That can’t be right,_ some boys say. _Man, you don’t have to be so jealous._ No one seems to take Yongsik’s words seriously. The bell rings, signalling the end of lunch, and he’s dragged to their next class, looking slightly put-off by the little to no reaction his grand accusation had. His eyes stab into Taeyong’s back until he disappears into the hallway.

Taeyong finds himself alone in an empty classroom. A teacher comes and starts setting up for his next class, shooting Taeyong some awkward glances, but not calling him out on his presence directly. It takes a few long minutes before Taeyong moves.

He doesn’t pay attention to the rest of his classes that day.

The next morning, he takes a bit longer in front of the mirror to style his hair. After, he takes out the blue letter with little hearts decorated on top and reads it again, taking care to remember the name. He places it back on his dresser.

He walks past his school, waving off some acquaintances, saying he has something to take care of first. It’s summer, the sun high in the sky, spilling down in bright gold. A warm and fragrant breeze washes over him. There’s a flower bed by the entrance of the all-girls’ school, courtesy of their gardening club. It’s too bad the boys don’t have one; Taeyong would have joined.

The girls start arriving not long after him, often in groups of two or more, chattering amongst themselves. Taeyong tries his best not to react at the glances they send his way, giggling into the palms of their hands. Everyone here knows what it means for a neighbour student to stray like this. He looks over the faces in the crowd, trying to remember the one who had given him the letter yesterday.

He notices her reaction first, her face an afterthought. She’s walking with her arm linked with a friend’s, who suddenly shakes her and gestures at Taeyong. The girl immediately blushes to her hair roots, looking away then back in shock. She’s pretty, Taeyong supposes. Short-haired and petite.

He cuts through the crowd under the curious eyes and gossiping tongues of their public. It takes everything in him not to run away right then and there. He takes a deep breath and tries to remember his pep talk with his sister the night before. She had freaked out at the thought of him liking a girl back for once.

“Lee Jiyeon, right?” he asks, walking up.

“Yes,” she breathes. Her face reddens even more. “Um, good morning, Taeyong.”

Her friend leaves them with a pointed smirk.

By now, he can see the different sorts of stares directed at them both. Taeyong’s lost track of the number of love confessions he’s received from the students here, but he sees that some of them look wildly offended. One girl starts crying in the distance, her friends patting her back consolingly. In Jiyeon's eyes, he glimpses a bit of pride.

His own stomach twists, and he’s not sure if he’s feeling anxious or just plain nauseous. Something akin to regret bubbles in him but he pushes it down.

He puts on his best smile. “I got your letter.”

He and Jiyeon go on dates and text each other about their day, even though Taeyong finds it boring and is always late to respond. The first time they go on a date to the aquarium, their hands brush together. Taeyong nearly flinches away until he gets a hold of himself and allows Jiyeon to entwine their fingers. He gets used to having her small hands wrapped around his. They kiss too, sometimes chastely on the lips, other times deeper, more sensual.

He doesn’t like it necessarily, but he also gets used to it.

She never manages to make his heart skip a beat, but that’s his problem, not hers. Jiyeon’s patient and doesn’t care that he’s quiet or that he never initiates anything between them. She makes him a homemade lunch box every day and drops by after school so that they can walk home together. The only time Taeyong remembers to visit her is when she has gardening club. She jokes that he likes the plants more than her. Taeyong laughs it off.

He doesn’t remember much of the last night they spend together. His mind blanks when she places his hand on the curve of her breast and presses against him. A bitter taste crawls up his throat.

The next thing he knows, she’s running her fingers through his hair in comfort as he heaves into the toilet. She doesn’t seem all that surprised.

It’s the last day of school before they graduate. They break up.

* * *

Tuesdays are always the busiest days of the week. Taeyong’s co-workers claim that it’s because Mondays are a little weekend-hazy, all of them tired and unwilling to come bury themselves in paperwork. Tuesdays come at them like a slap in the face, they say. Double the work and stress. They have no choice but to snap out of it.

Taeyong thinks it has more to do with the fact that their boss always locks himself up with his weekly mafia visitor all day. He’s only been working here for a little more than a month, and he really wonders how everyone else could be so oblivious as to where exactly the company’s money comes from.

It doesn’t matter to him overly much. He’s only here on a co-op placement and in about three months, he’ll be back to studying. It’s not like he’s directly employed by the local organized crime either. If the police get involved, he can’t be charged with anything more than ignorance.

“We’re going out drinking after,” Beomseok says during lunch break that day. “It’s karaoke tonight, you should come.”

“I can’t hold my liquor,” Taeyong says, taking a bite out of his chocolate bar. Today, his meal consists of caramel pudding and sweets, a stark contrast from the lunches Jiyeon used to make.

"Neither can Nari, if you catch my drift.”

Beomseok elbows him roughly, laughing. Taeyong tries not to show just how much he dislikes it. Over the years, he’s gotten better at talking to people, but he still can’t deal with assholes. His co-worker, Park Beomseok, is by definition, an asshole.

“I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”

“Aw, come on, man. Where’s the fun in that?” Beomseok grins. 

He makes a few more comments, raising his eyebrows sleazily, obviously expecting Taeyong to laugh. Taeyong answers with strained smiles. He continues eating to avoid answering most of the time. The pudding leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

He hasn’t bothered dating anyone ever since Jiyeon. She was too good for him honestly, and he’s glad she was so understanding when they broke up, not even demanding an explanation. They don’t talk anymore, but they’re still friends on Facebook. She pops up on his feed sometimes; her current boyfriend is on the school’s volleyball team. Just last week, his team made second place in the nationals.

If Taeyong finds himself staring at her boyfriend’s toned thighs straining against his shorts rather than looking at Jiyeon, he doesn’t linger on it. It must be his inferiority complex talking; her boyfriend looks much taller and buffer than Taeyong ever was.

"It’s too bad for Nari," Beomseok says when they return to their cubicles. Unfortunately, his is right beside Taeyong’s and he likes leaning over to talk. “She really does like you. You sure you don’t wanna come with?”

"Like I said," Taeyong replies. “I’m not interested.”

Beomseok shakes his head good-naturedly. His conversation for the rest of the day goes about the same: comments about Taeyong’s love life (or lack of), about his own, about their other co-workers’. He speaks crudely of the eighteen-year-old intern working on the floor below theirs. He mentions the new strip club opening up nearby in a low voice. Taeyong wonders, not for the first time, when he’s ever given the impression to Beomseok that they were friends. He doesn’t bother responding, busying himself with work, and is grateful when Beomseok finally gets the hint to shut up.

Taeyong stays at the company a little later than usual, wanting to correct a mistake a team member made in his review. He doesn’t care all that much, honestly, but it’s better than going back to his apartment and doing nothing. Beomseok’s long gone, having snuck out twenty minutes early for a smoke break, and Nari drops by to awkwardly say goodbye. Taeyong gives her a small smile which seems to fluster her greatly and she leaves in a hurry.

He enjoys the silence as his co-workers slowly trickle out of the office. By the time he shuts his laptop and puts on his coat, he’s the only one left on the floor.

He’s waiting by the elevator when his boss’ office door suddenly opens, and an unfamiliar voice comes out of it— “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course,” says his boss, sounding subdued.

Taeyong doesn’t look back as footsteps approach him. Instead, he plays around with his phone, going through the few notifications that he has. The footsteps cease, and Taeyong finally looks up, feigning surprise. He pockets his phone.

“Good evening,” he offers.

The man beside him is not the usual mafioso who comes to talk with his boss. He looks younger, maybe in his late twenties, with his inky black hair gelled back, the sides shaved in a trendy undercut. He can try to pass off as a young businessman, but his form-fitting grey suit and open black collared shirt are a dead giveaway, as well as the golden chains around his neck and the faded white scar at his temple. There’s no mistaking _his_ activities for anything legal.

Taeyong expects the stranger to ignore him completely. Instead, the man glances briefly at him, away, and then back again. He gives Taeyong a slow once-over before smirking. “Evening.”

He says nothing more as they both step onto the elevator. The man presses the button for the ground floor, and Taeyong notices he’s wearing a silver ring with a rose insignia engraved on top. Pretty, he supposes, and not what he envisioned of someone from the mafia.

The closed space of the lift fills itself with the scent of tobacco. Taeyong looks ahead, but he can feel the man sneaking glances at him on their ride down—which is a lot more rewarding than the attention he’s used to getting from others. A shiver crawls up his spine. Taeyong’s never felt the urge to break the silence as much as he does now, but he keeps his mouth shut.

They separate soon enough anyway. Ten floors later, the man enters a sleek black car waiting for him by the sidewalk, while Taeyong makes his way to his apartment building feeling slightly confused.

He eats dinner while watching a late-night talk show and waters his plants with his r&b playlist playing in the background. His apartment feels lonelier than usual tonight.

Before going to bed, he receives a picture of a tipsy Nari at karaoke from Beomseok, followed by a tasteless comment. Taeyong scowls and just as his thumb hovers above the block button, he stops. The guy holding the mic beside Nari has cat-like eyes and a pointy chin. His tie is loose, collar bones on display. Taeyong doesn’t recognize him. Objectively, he’s fairly attractive. He leaves Beomseok on read and places his phone on the bedside table.

Taeyong lies beneath his covers, staring blankly at the ceiling. He thinks about Jiyeon and her boyfriend, the guy beside Nari—and wonders what the hell he’s doing.

Then he thinks about the mafioso who wouldn’t stop staring at him earlier.

Taeyong hopes he’ll see him again.

He arrives early to work the next day. Mornings in the office are cold enough to warrant more than the loose v-neck sweater he’s chosen to wear—for no reason outside of it looking better on him than a coat. He waits by the coffee machine, waving slightly at a tired-looking Nari and counting the minutes.

He doesn’t have to stand too long. His boss shows up with barely a nod of acknowledgement, and soon after, the same mafia guy from yesterday arrives, wearing a different grey pinstripe suit and an expensive watch rather than gold chains.

It’s no wonder this man arrives earlier and leaves later than the ones who usually come to monitor the agency. Taeyong doesn’t think even Beomseok could have seen him and not be suspicious. The brand and fitting of his suits are too expensive, too pointedly ragged. Taeyong can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something about him that screams of danger.

Then the man’s gaze rests on Taeyong and his lips curve into a smirk. He slows down in the direction of the boss’ office, and says, “Good morning.”

Taeyong lifts his cup of coffee to him in salute.

The man briefly pats his shoulder as he passes, his touch burning through Taeyong’s sweater. For the first time, Taeyong feels his heart skip a beat, a little thud against his chest. He watches as the door shuts firmly behind the man’s back, and then swallows heavily, leaving his coffee untouched on the counter.

The day crawls by at a snail’s pace. Beomseok clocks in near noon, nursing a headache from drinking so much last night. Taeyong offhandedly asks him about the guy in the picture with Nari, which Beomseok mistakes as jealousy, much to his annoyance. He gets the information he needs though, and tucks the name Kim Doyoung from HR at the back of his mind for another time. Beomseok’s voice fades into background noise as he resumes work.

He has no intention of going home early. He once more outstays all of his co-workers, even Beomseok who came in late and Nari who looks like she wants to wait for him but is too shy to ask him when he plans on leaving. Taeyong stays by the coffee machine, ignoring it in favour of brewing some chamomile tea in the evening silence. The sun should be setting soon, earlier than it did even a week ago; fall is approaching swiftly and relentlessly with the leaves turning orange and yellow. Distantly, Taeyong thinks about extending his co-op term for another four months.

Soon, the sunlight that poured in from the wide windows fades into a subtle amber glow, before vanishing altogether. Only then does Taeyong hear the sound of movement from behind his boss’ door.

He cracks his neck at a long day’s worth of work, and heads to the elevator. He waits until he hears the door opening before pressing the call button. A strange tension works its way up through his back and shoulders. He wonders if he should fix his posture, perhaps having slouched too much today or yesterday.

Finally, the man from this morning walks into the hallway. He doesn’t seem surprised at seeing Taeyong still there and stops at his side with a simple, “Evening.”

Taeyong only hums in answer. 

The man checks the hour on his expensive watch. The move is quick, but this time, Taeyong catches the sight of calluses at the heel of his right palm, mirroring the ones at the last knuckle of his index. _Gun,_ Taeyong realizes, and his belly seems to catch on fire at the very idea.

His eyes wander up, and their gazes meet. The man raises an eyebrow, looking amused, and Taeyong looks away. He chews his bottom lip. The man’s tall as fuck. Taller than anyone he's ever met, save for maybe that Chanyeol guy from Economics 204.

He is somewhat flustered when he enters the elevator. He feels like the side of his face is burning from the man’s constant staring. Heat rushes to the cheeks as he scrolls through his phone, though there is nothing new on his timeline. Neither of them makes a move to talk.

Taeyong wonders what it would take him to say why exactly he keeps looking. He isn’t privy to the rules of this sort of game. Doesn’t know what exactly he’s playing either.

There isn’t a car waiting for the mafioso this time. He puts on a long black coat—long enough that Taeyong would drown in it if he were to wear it—and exits the building with a dip of his head in Taeyong’s direction. Taeyong barely hears the _goodbye_ that leaves his own lips in answer.

He finds himself hit, suddenly, with the myriad of possibilities. He has nothing to do at home anyway.

Before Taeyong can convince himself otherwise, he grabs an extra coat from the lobby and follows the man left rather than taking a right to his apartment. It’s easy to maintain a respectable distance while keeping him in sight; Seoul never sleeps, never ceases to blind all those who live in its belly, and bright light abounds even at this hour. People litter the streets in search of entertainment. Loud high school students crowd the internet cafés and gaming arcades. Night never fully sets over the city.

The man never looks back, never seeing Taeyong, simply walking with his hands in his pockets. He descends the stairs to the subway entrance. After a moment of hesitation, Taeyong follows. There’s nothing suspicious about two strangers taking the same train.

It’s not until he finds himself getting off at Itaewon station, trailing the man as he navigates through busy to less crowded streets, that it dawns upon him that this is a very bad idea—but he’s too curious to go back now. Taeyong feels a strange thrill at being led around like this; he can’t remember the last time he’s been so obsessed with someone rather than it being the other way around. 

They walk for a long time. It feels like no time. The mafioso stops beneath a buzzing neon sign of a rose. There’s a sizeable line waiting by the entrance of the building, but the bouncer allows him to enter without a single word. Taeyong stops in his tracks, warily eyeing the name, The Budding Rose,and scanning the faces of those in line, mostly men in skin-tight jeans and shirts leaving little to the imagination.

Taeyong takes a step back, hiding in the shadows across the street. This is what he gets for sticking his nose in someone else’s business. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why the mafioso had kept on staring at him, the same reason as to why he’s currently in a place like The Budding Rose. To be honest, it feels a little bit anticlimactic. So what if he’s gay? It doesn’t affect Taeyong whatsoever.

Despite knowing he should return home before it gets too late, Taeyong loiters by the bus stop across the street. Time passes as he waits. He watches as the usual crowds get smaller, until more people with less than favourable reputations start appearing. Some tattooed guys travel in packs, hanging around each other, circling, watching everyone passing by with lazy, seeking eyes. Girls walk around in short dresses and heels so high they look like they’re standing on stilts. They must be freezing.

Taeyong stuffs his hands in his pockets and curses because he, too, feels cold and near naked at the same time—and there are definitely some looks coming his way.

The second time he hears, “Hey, pretty doll,” followed by a nasty laugh, he puts up his hood and walks away. Rather than wanting to leave, he’s struck with the sudden urge to seek out the mafioso in the club. His current attire isn’t exactly appropriate for a night’s out.

Just as he makes the decision to cross the street and wait in line, he sees the same man he’s been following exit through the front doors. He nods briefly at the bouncer and strides away, holding a nondescript silver briefcase. Taeyong quickly follows him, realizing too late that he’s acting too brashly; there’s a higher chance of getting caught now that he’s only half a block away with so few people around.

Much to his relief, the man still doesn’t look back. He always looks forward, and the same group of tattooed guys who had leered at Taeyong immediately clear the path for him as he passes. Taeyong wonders just how much influence this man possesses. He seems like a big shot, not just some lowly thug.

How oddly exciting.

As he follows the mafioso, one of the tattooed guys purposely bumps into Taeyong. He stumbles over his feet, and before he can get his bearings, the guy grabs his wrist and forces him back. “Watch where you’re going, doll.”

Taeyong snarls and twists his arm, effectively breaking out of the tattooed guy’s grip. Those self-defense courses his sister made him take with her prove to be surprisingly handy in situations like these. Suspecting he might do more, Taeyong glares at the guy as he backs away slowly, but he simply throws his hands in the air with a mean smile.

The others around them laugh, and Taeyong realizes they were just messing with him. He turns around with a scowl, pulling his hood even lower over his face as he walks away. He almost misses the mafioso taking a left turn. The man travels for a few more blocks before slipping into a narrow alley, not far from Itaewon’s biggest entertainment area but remarkably void of people.

Taeyong stops by a convenience store, half-hiding behind a newspaper stand. The man doesn’t come out for a while. Eventually, the saleswoman at the back of the shop starts throwing him worried glances, so Taeyong moves away and cautiously approaches the mouth of the alley. Peeking behind the wall, he only sees shadows.

Then he feels fingers wrap around his neck, giving it a squeeze before slamming him against the wall. The back of his head throbs at the impact. Taeyong inhales sharply, feeling something cold dig into his temple. _Gun._

All of a sudden, those self-defense courses seem so very useless.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” the man hisses.

Taeyong knows any sane person would be panicking right now, but his heart pounds against his chest for a whole nother reason. He tries not to sweat and shifts uncomfortably when the man presses his leg in between his thighs to keep him in place. Something akin to electricity buzzes where their bodies make contact, and the feeling of being caged against the wall is vastly different compared to how Jiyeon’s smaller body ever felt against him.

It’s the adrenaline coursing through Taeyong’s veins that prompts him to drawl: “Lee Taeyong. You?”

His hood falls back as he tilts his chin up in defiance, meeting the man’s dark eyes. He sees a brief flicker of recognition before the pressure against his skull lightens and the man releases his neck as if scalded. He continues to blink at Taeyong, surprise washing the anger out of his face, and then he lets out a bark of laughter, putting the gun back into his coat.

“You can call me Johnny,” he says, offering his hand. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Taeyong doesn’t know what compels him to take it, but he’s strangely fascinated by how Johnny’s hand envelopes his own completely. Johnny’s grip tightens and he tugs Taeyong closer, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Why were you following me, Taeyong?”

“I was curious,” Taeyong says deliberately.

“About what?”

Taeyong gives him a pointed look, cocking an eyebrow. He doesn’t deign to reply. There might have been a slight chance he was wrong about the guy being from the mafia before, but now that he’s seen the briefcase and the gun, there’s no reason to believe otherwise.

Johnny drops his hand but doesn’t step out of his personal space, his broad shoulders preventing Taeyong from seeing anything but him. Taeyong can smell his cologne, like cedar and sandalwood, hidden beneath the heavier scent of tobacco. He finds he doesn’t mind it.

“You afraid?” Johnny asks lowly, staring at him in a way that almost makes Taeyong flinch.

He stands his ground. “Should I be?”

“Depends,” Johnny replies, white teeth flashing in the dim light as he grins at Taeyong. “But I suppose it’s better if you’re not. Then maybe you’d let me—” Taeyong’s pulse throbs in his neck as the man leans in right next to his ear, soft lips pressing against his skin as he speaks. “Fuck you till you see the stars?”

Taeyong instantly wrenches his arm out of Johnny’s grasp and slaps him. 

Shocked silence hangs in the air. Taeyong feels a cold sweat break across the back of his neck as Johnny slowly reaches up to touch his cheek, where a small red welt starts to form. Taeyong feels like he’s dreaming. He’d slapped him. Johnny. The mafia member with a fucking gun.

Taeyong is just a second year uni student with a boring finance major, trying to get some work experience at a dubious company so that he won’t be jobless after he graduates. He should have never given into his curiosity and followed Johnny, never should have acted so brashly. He’s not ready to die, not when he’s barely done anything meaningful with his life, and he knows he should make a run for it, but his muscles freeze. Stunned, Taeyong waits for Johnny to whip out his gun and put a bullet through his head.

Nothing happens.

Instead, when Taeyong finally works up the courage to make eye contact, he looks up to see Johnny smiling, his lips curled into a self-satisfied sort of smirk.

“Um,” Taeyong stutters, dumbstruck. His voice comes out slightly strangled. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault. Where are my manners?” Johnny backs off and bends down to grab the briefcase he had previously placed on the ground. He opens it without preamble, revealing neat rows of a hundred dollar bills. There has to be almost a million dollars in there. Not Korean, but _American_ money. “I have all this on me. How much do you want for a night?”

The briefcase closes with a small click. Taeyong stares at Johnny, uncomprehending. His throat locks into place and he suddenly finds it hard to breathe. Johnny remains undeterred, smiling as if he’s conducting a business deal, completely self-assured.

“I’m not…” Taeyong takes a deep breath. “I’m not a fucking hooker, asshole.”

And even then, surely that’s too much for a one-night stand?

“Does it matter if you’re a sex worker or not?” Johnny says with a tilt of his head. He places his hand against the wall beside Taeyong’s head, leaning down. “Didn’t you say you followed me because you were curious? Aren’t you curious now, Taeyong?”

Taeyong tries to take a step back but finds his back already pressed flat against the wall. He licks his lips nervously, and Johnny’s eyes flicker down to follow. Neither of them makes another move. Taeyong feels his cheeks heat up at the sheer amount of tension between them, his small intakes of breath painfully loud in the silence.

He can’t believe he’s actually considering the offer, but the amount of money in that briefcase in insane. He’ll be set for a long, _long_ time. The only problem is that Johnny—still a part of the mafia, for fuck’s sake—expects him to have sex with him in return. Taeyong doesn’t know if he can follow up with that. He’s never gone past first base with Jiyeon, let alone with another guy.

He startles, the thought hitting him at full force. He raises his hands to press his palms against Johnny’s chest—hard and muscular, and definitely not giving Taeyong any second thoughts—and _pushes._

Johnny stumbles back, light on his feet, with an easy smile and hands raised in mock defence. “Is that a no?”

“I’m not _gay."_

For a moment, it seems like he’s taken Johnny by surprise. The mafioso blinks at him blankly, confusion evident in his eyes. His features twist before rearranging itself into a neutral expression. Taeyong watches him warily, not sure how the man will take the rejection; Johnny doesn’t seem the type to take things by force, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.

“Okay,” Johnny says, taking it in stride. “Let me know if you ever change your mind.”

“Thank you,” Taeyong replies curtly, backing away, “but I won’t.”

Johnny dips his head in return, and Taeyong takes that as permission to leave without having to worry about getting shot in the back. He’s a step away from exiting the alley and back into the light when Johnny speaks.

“Oh, and Taeyong?”

Despite himself, Taeyong pauses. He turns around to see Johnny smirking like he knows something Taeyong doesn’t. It’s infuriating.

“What do you want?”

“Seems to me like you’re _very_ afraid.”

He’s not sure what Johnny means by that, but he knows an insult when he hears one. Taeyong rolls his eyes and rounds on the back of his heels, throwing his middle finger over his shoulder. It’s entirely out of character from his usual quiet office worker persona, but Taeyong can’t bring himself to care. He’s not letting a wannabe mafioso get to him and he’s _not_ scared of him.

Behind him, Johnny laughs.

Taeyong takes a cab home with a lot on his mind. He stares out of the car window, watching quietly as the cityscape blurs into lights. Sensing that he’s not in the mood to talk, the driver asks him if he wants him to turn on the radio, which Taeyong agrees in hopes of letting the music drown out his thoughts. It doesn’t quite work.

Once they arrive, he mumbles a thanks to the driver, tipping him more than usual, and climbs up the stairs to his apartment. He feels a bit dazed, moving on autopilot as he toes off his shoes and heads to the bathroom. His reflection catches his attention. He’ll have to find a way to hide the red marks Johnny left from gripping his neck too tightly; they’ll likely bruise.

Taeyong raises a hand and runs it along the side of his face, his touch causing pink to blossom beneath his skin from the pressure. He’s always known that others found him attractive, but he’s never paid much attention to it until now. Even though he looks tired and really pale with slight circles under his eyes, he still looks...pretty. Even the scar beneath his eye is pretty under the right light; Jiyeon used to say the shape reminded her of a flower, like one of those roses in her gardening club.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t mesmerized by his own face. So was Johnny, if his proposal was any indication. Taeyong never liked being in the centre of attention, but he can’t say he hated being in Johnny’s.

Then Taeyong shakes his head because he’s acting shallow and it must be the exhaustion talking. He slips out of his clothes, throwing them into the hamper. He gets under the showerhead and turns the knob, groaning lowly as hot water pours over him, relaxing his muscles. The incident with Johnny lingers in his mind though, while he’s soaping himself up in the shower. It replays; Johnny pinning him against the wall with a gun at his head, fingers wrapped around his neck and a leg between Taeyong’s thighs.

Taeyong swallows. The room feels several degrees hotter, and it’s not because of the hot water. Screwing his eyes shut, he rinses off the soap, trying to think of anything, _anyone_ else. He tries to imagine the female idol Beomseok keeps as his lock screen, but it’s an immediate turn-off and his mind wanders back to the strong arm holding him back and the heady smell of cedar and sandalwood and smoke. Cursing under his breath, Taeyong realizes he’s now half-hard.

He takes a long breath in through his nose, holds it, and then releases it through his mouth. 

Fuck it.

His cock jumps when he touches it. God, this is going to be quick. He continues to stroke himself. His mind conjures vivid images of a man, taller than him with broad shoulders and a deep voice. In his fantasy, Johnny smirks and brings Taeyong close. His chest feels warm and hard, and he wraps a hand around Taeyong’s waist. His eyes darken with interest at how much his hand covers, and Taeyong shivers. They kiss deeply, grinding against each other. When they pull away for air, Johnny asks him again in a low voice, _Are you afraid?_

Taeyong bites down on his lip and lets out a moan as he cums all over his fingers. The images fade. Slowly, he leans against the tiled wall, feeling pleasantly buzzed.

He steps out of the shower. When he goes to his room, it finally hits him. The air in his apartment is humid and very still.

“Oh,” he says aloud.

* * *

Taeyong surprises himself at how easily he takes the revelation. Whatever he might be, whether it’s gay or bi or pan (he’s betting on gay, to be honest), it feels good to finally come to terms with himself after so many years of denial. He’s been attracted to a lot of guys before—Chanyeol from Econ 204, the Thai male actor his older sister likes, the cute waiter at his favourite diner—but none of them has ever affected him as much as Johnny has.

There must be something wrong with him, if his first crush is a dangerous mafia member who threatened him with a gun and then offered to pay him for sex, but Taeyong gets over it. For fuck’s sake, he’s tired of hating himself.

Tuesday rolls around. Despite his recent self-discovery and feeling like a brand-new person, nothing else changes at work—Nari smiles at him shyly when she passes him by the coffee machine, while Beomseok invites him out for drinks and makes crude jokes about a girl he hooked up with last weekend.

The boss has already locked himself up in his office with his weekly mafia visitor.

Taeyong wonders if it’s Johnny again. A small part of him hopes so, while a much bigger and more logical part of him is too embarrassed to even think about it. What’s he going to do if he sees Johnny? Accept his offer? Taeyong’s cheeks heat up at the thought and he forces himself to concentrate on work.

One by one, his co-workers head home until only Taeyong remains on the floor. He checks the time—deliberately ignoring the fact that this happens to be the same hour Johnny usually leaves—and decides he’s done for the day. He puts away his laptop, grabs his coat, and heads to the elevator.

The boss’ office door opens as soon as Taeyong pushes the call button. A coincidence, really.

A familiar voice drifts out—“I’ll have one of my guys drop by tomorrow. For your sake, I hope we won’t be seeing each other anytime soon, Director Kang.”

“I’ll do my best,” says his boss, a slight quaver in his voice.

Taeyong doesn’t look back as footsteps approach him. Although he can feel Johnny’s curious stare, neither of them says a word as they step into the lift. At least now he knows _why_ Johnny’s staring.

An astonishingly stupid idea comes to Taeyong. It’s not like he’ll be seeing Johnny anytime soon after tonight, judging by the conversation he overheard. Before he can regret it, he breaks the silence.

“The first time I was about to have sex with a girl, I threw up. Never tried it again.”

Johnny only hums. “You think you’re ace?”

“No.” Taeyong keeps his eyes forward. His heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. Even though he’s recently learned to accept himself, he still hasn’t said it aloud, let alone told anyone else. “I think I’m gay.”

His face burns in shame. He half expects Johnny to laugh at him and tell him _I told you so,_ but the man just makes a small noise of acknowledgement. “Good for you, Taeyong.”

An amicable silence falls over them. This is it, Taeyong realizes. He can either end the conversation and they can part ways, never to meet again—or he can keep running his mouth like a motherfucking idiot.

“I might be wrong though, since I’ve never been with a guy,” Taeyong says, like the idiot he is. He turns to meet Johnny’s gaze from under his lashes. “Can you help me make sure?”

Taeyong sees the moment Johnny gets it, the way his eyes darken with interest and his shoulders tense. The elevator doors open with a ding, causing Taeyong to jump back and whip his head forward. The lobby is empty. When he turns back to Johnny, the man’s returned to a neutral expression.

“You’re a virgin then, aren’t you?” At Taeyong’s flushed face, Johnny sighs. “Maybe we shouldn’t. You really want to spend your first time with someone like me?”

There’s nothing overtly wrong with the words, but Taeyong doesn’t like the way he says them, the same calm, cautious tone people use to smooth out a “no” into a “not right now.” Taeyong can’t remember a time he’s ever been rejected before. It stings a little.

“Why not?” he challenges.

Johnny raises a brow. “Do you even know who I am?”

“You’re Johnny,” Taeyong begins before trailing off with a scowl. He doesn’t know the man’s last name.

Johnny snickers. “It’s Seo. Johnny Seo.”

“Well, Johnny Seo,” Taeyong drawls, letting the name roll off his tongue. “I don’t really care who you are. All you have to do is keep your promise and fuck me till I see the stars.”

There’s a lengthy pause and Taeyong wonders if he’s grossly misread the situation, but then Johnny chuckles with a shake of his head. He moves forward as the elevator doors close, crowding Taeyong into a corner.

“Fine,” he says, leaning down. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Taeyong swallows, his breath quickening. He’s not sure whether his heart is pounding out of fear or excitement, but if there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that he refuses to back out now. With renewed determination, he tilts his head up.

Johnny smirks and meets him halfway.

Johnny takes them to a hotel that, at first glance, Taeyong can already tell that he’ll never be able to afford on his own. The building soars above him, city lights reflecting on its black glass, the picture-perfect definition of modern luxury. A bellboy opens the doors for them. The lobby is just what Taeyong expects, with polished marble floors that match the outside design, immaculate with an air of inaccessibility.

He lingers back as they approach the reception, feeling inadequate in his simple work suit.

“I trust you have the room ready?” Johnny says and steps forward, flashing a smile to the hotel clerk.

“Of course. The presidential suite is all yours, Mr Seo,” says the woman. “To your specifications as well.”

“Isn’t this way overkill?” Taeyong mutters under his breath. He wouldn’t have minded if Johnny had taken him to a cheap love motel instead. It’s a one-night stand, not their fucking anniversary.

The movement is quick, but Taeyong doesn’t miss the hotel clerk looking at him in a way that makes his teeth clench defensively. She clears her throat very loudly, “Sir, if you don’t mind refraining from your comments.”

Taeyong flushes pink immediately. Just as he’s about to defend himself, Johnny steps back and puts his arm around Taeyong’s waist.

“He’s with me.”

The hotel clerk’s eyes briefly widen before she catches herself. Her smile is bright as she apologizes, but Taeyong can tell that it’s all an act. Not that he blames her, really. He’ll be scared shitless too if he made a mistake in front of someone of importance like Johnny.

She hands Johnny the keycard. “Shall I have a bottle of champagne sent up, sir?”

“Two,” Taeyong surprises himself by saying, and Johnny squeezes his hip once before ushering them to the elevator.

The suite has to be at least five times the size of his apartment, with three large white couches and a chandelier hanging above the living room. To the side, beside the dining table, a huge window looks out to the night cityscape.

Johnny directs Taeyong to one of the showers. “I’ll use the other one, so take your time.” He ruffles Taeyong’s hair as he passes. “And don’t overthink it.”

Taeyong wants to take a shower quickly anyway, anxious for the evening to progress, but he ends up standing under the hot stream for a long time. The shower’s huge, tiled with marble, with a powerful jet that works at the tension in his back from spending so much time of the day seated. He rolls his shoulder blades and closes his eyes in an attempt to enjoy the luxury. None of this feels real.

It’s not until he finishes soaping himself up that he realizes his hands are shaking. Despite what Johnny said, Taeyong can’t help but overthink it. Johnny is not only older and more experienced but also someone feared by many, if the hotel clerk’s reaction was any indication. Taeyomg’s scared of disappointing him, of not being good enough. Then Taeyong clenches his fists tightly. Fuck that. There’s no way he’s getting cold feet now.

He wraps himself in a white bathrobe and pads back to the living room, peeking his head around the corner. Johnny’s already done, wearing a loose black shirt, sweatpants, and slippers. He’s on the phone but sees Taeyong standing by the doorway and gestures for him to sit. There’s a bucket of ice with two bottles of champagne on the table, so Taeyong pours himself a glass as he waits.

“You’re stalling too much. I already told you, the transaction needs to be completed before Qian’s group catches wind of it.”

Johnny speaks in English, rattling off into the phone like a native speaker. Taeyong feels like he’s taking his TOEIC all over again, in which he only manages to pick up enough words to barely pass the listening portion of the test. The call sounds important though, and Taeyong takes another sip of his drink, trying his best not to feel like an intruder.

Johnny paces the room for a bit longer, then lets out a sigh and says, “I don’t care how you do it as long as you get it done by tonight. Ask Mark if you need help and don’t bother calling me again.”

“You done?” Taeyong asks when Johnny ends the call.

“Yeah, sorry about that. There won’t be any more interruptions tonight, I promise,” Johnny says, running his hand through his hair, letting the wet strands fall messily over his forehead. Taeyong stares up at him as he approaches.

“You look younger with your hair down.”

Johnny stops and furrows his brows a little. “Do I? I’m only twenty-six.”

“I thought you’d be older, since you work for the mafia and all.”

The corner of Johnny’s lips quirk up. “Would it surprise you even more if I said I’m my own boss?”

It takes a moment for the implications to sink it.

“Oh,” Taeyong realizes dumbly.

It makes sense from hindsight, how everyone, from the group of thugs by the night club to the hotel clerk, seemed so afraid of Johnny. How he had so much money to spare. Taeyong’s not just fucking a higher-up in the mafia, which is bad enough, but the mafia _boss._

“Getting second thoughts now?”

Taeyong immediately recognizes the mocking lilt in Johnny’s voice, accompanied by that same frustrating smirk.

Rather than replying, Taeyong downs his glass of champagne before getting up and crashing his mouth against Johnny’s. He’s waited too long for this bullshit. Their teeth clash together at first, and it’s wet and clumsy, but Johnny doesn’t seem to mind. He takes the lead, slowing down the pace with more languid, sensual movements.

It barely takes three awkwards steps before his hands are on Taeyong’s ass, hiking him up easily to just carry him to the master bedroom instead. Taeyong gasps into their kiss but takes the hint and wraps his legs around Johnny’s torso, a small part of him loving how small he feels against the other man.

Johnny lays him on the bed, gently tugging the ribbon on Taeyong’s bathrobe and letting the cotton fabric fall loose, pooling at Taeyong’s hips. He doesn’t make a further move. Normally, Taeyong would feel self-conscious about his body; he’s not disillusioned and knows it takes longer for him than others to pack on the heavy muscle. Johnny’s attention never wavers though, eyes still dark with interest, lips permanently curled up in that self-satisfactory smirk.

Taeyong frowns. “What are you waiting for?”

“Just admiring the view.”

Despite its cheesiness, Taeyong feels his cheeks flush at the remark, and Johnny laughs. He eases off his shirt and tosses it aside before crawling over to Taeyong. Ink litters all over his chest to the dip of his hips, disappearing behind the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a mess of dark, gritty colours, chaotic illustrations that Taeyong doesn’t get to to properly depict before they kiss again.

Johnny’s mouth trails down his neck and bites his collarbone, leaving marks that Taeyong knows won’t be easy to hide. Then Johnny makes his way further down and sucks his left nipple, immediately causing Taeyong to whimper, arching his back. His hands find purchase in Johnny’s hair, pulling at it as the man moves over to his right bud.

“You’re so sensitive here.”

“No shit, sherlock,” Taeyong breathes out.

Johnny smirks against his chest and raises a hand to start flicking at Taeyong’s other nipple, red and slick with his spit. Taeyong pulls tighter at Johnny’s hair, biting his bottom lip to keep from moaning aloud.

Eventually, Johnny makes his way down Taeyong’s stomach and hip bone, moving to lie down on his belly. From Taeyong’s angle, with his head propped up on the pillows, he sees another one of the mafia boss’ tattoos, this time a massive dragon coiled around a bloody rose. The ink spans his entire back, rippling black and dark red as his muscles shift. It’s hard not to stare.

He makes the smallest sound of a squeak when Johnny’s large hands suddenly wrap around his thighs, holding them up and apart with ease. Johnny removes the bathrobe completely, pressing a reassuring kiss to the soft skin there.

Taeyong blushes horribly, his eyes cutting off to the side. “Why are you being so gentle?”

“Just who do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, a criminal?”

“I’m not an asshole though, unless you want me to be one.” Johnny gives his bottom a gentle swat with the back of his hand, more playful than anything else, but something about it makes Taeyong’s eyes go wide. He receives a knowing look but thankfully Johnny doesn’t say anything else. Taeyong has an inkling of what he likes and doesn’t like, but he’s not sure he’s ready to test it out yet—at least not for his first time.

Johnny presses a teensy kiss to the tip of Taeyong’s cock before licking a long stripe up its length, his tongue pressed flat and wide. Taeyong’s hands find themselves back into Johnny’s hair unthinkingly, and his fingers tighten. Gentle suction has his eyes clenching shut as he gasps, and once he’s coaxed into full hardness, that suction increases in intensity.

It’s weird, picturing himself in this kind of situation. It’s weirdest of all to feel it, to be red in the face and have his thighs tremble, with a mafia boss’ lips stretched around his cock. It’s not long before it gets too much and Taeyong stutters out, “J-Johnny, wait, wait, _wait._ ”

Johnny only sucks harder, quicker, keeping his mouth on Taeyong until he spills down his throat with a small cry. Johnny swallows and then comes up with a wet pop, his lips pulled up in a smirk, swollen and slick with spit. Taeyong lets his head fall back onto the pillows, dizzy after an orgasm.

“That was fast,” Johnny teases.

“I did tell you to wait.” A whine creeps into his voice without him meaning to, and Taeyong presses his palms against his hot cheeks, embarrassment flooding over him.

Johnny chuckles, and Taeyong sits up just in time to see him slipping off his sweatpants, his erection bobbing free. The younger swallows at the sight. Honestly, it’s a bit daunting to imagine something as big as that fitting inside of him. He wonders how much it’ll hurt, if it’s even possible.

Some of his apprehension must have shown on his face because Johnny’s gaze softens and he sits on the bed, using the bed sheets to cover his lower half. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I could kiss you instead, all over—” Here, he kisses down the column of Taeyong’s throat, the dip of his clavicle, the soft lines and dips of his body, until Taeyong’s writhing under his touch. “And then we could go to sleep. Simple.”

Johnny stops, wrapping his arm around Taeyong’s smaller frame and letting the younger’s head press against his chest. For a moment, Taeyong’s at a loss of words. This is the mafia boss? The same one who held him by the neck, put a gun to his head and said he’ll fuck him till saw the stars? It’s not like he’s disappointed—a part of him realizes that Johnny can do him rough, hard, and all he has to do is ask—but rather, he feels...touched. It’s almost like Johnny cares.

“It’s not like I don’t want to,” Taeyong says eventually. “I’m just scared it’ll hurt.”

Johnny hums, and Taeyong can feel the reverberations in his chest. He lifts Taeyong up by the waist like he weighs nothing, which really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. His fingers trail down and settle at his hips. “Don’t worry, I can take the time to loosen your body slowly.”

And fuck, doesn’t that sound nice. At Taeyong’s timid nod, Johnny settles him back against the pillows, grabbing one from the side and putting it underneath his hips. He reaches for a small bottle of lube—brand-new and already ready at the nightstand, Taeyong notices, likely prepared by the hotel staff—and smiles to himself as he surveys Taeyong.

“You’re fast to recover too,” he says lightly, glancing down at Taeyong’s new hard-on.

Slightly flustered, Taeyong tries to close his legs again, but Johnny parts them with hardly any effort at all.

“No, I like it,” he reassures, and Taeyong pauses, his breath caught in his throat. He watches as Johnny works the lube onto his fingers and cups them in front of his mouth, huffing warmly on them. “You ever tried doing this to yourself before?”

“Um, no.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “I really am your first for everything.”

“Y-yeah,” Taeyong breathes in answer, distracted as Johnny then circles his asshole with a slick finger. He twitches as the foreign sensation and automatically spreads his legs a little wider, lifting his head to watch as Johnny’s finger slides into him. It’s shallow, gently stretching the tight ring of muscle. Johnny pulls it out and circles again, ensuring that everything is oiled before he pushes it back in, this time deeper.

Taeyong exhales shakily as he shifts his hips to help take it in. Johnny’s finger strokes against his hot, fragile flesh, moving of its own accord. It feels strange, but not painful, when Johnny slowly adds another finger. The stretch increases as they move together. His fingers part in a scissoring motion, and Taeyong moans, his fingers gripping the bed sheets beside him.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” Johnny praises.

“Can you not—” Taeyong gasps when Johnny’s fingers, after taking a more determined approach for a few moments, strike something inside him that makes him clench around them and dig his head back into the pillow. “F-fuck!” He forgets all about his embarrassment when Johnny’s fingers hit that spot again, and then again.

Taeyong’s thighs tremble as he thrusts his hips up for more. Johnny uses his free hand to push the smaller’s knees back against his chest, whistling approvingly at how easily Taeyong folds. The new position sends electrifying pleasures through Taeyong’s body, and he locks his ankles around Johnny’s neck, trying desperately not to get overwhelmed.

"Relax. You're getting all worked up."

"Of course, I’m getting worked up," Taeyong complains, but takes a moment to pause. He spreads his arms out and lets out a great exhale. Johnny, who had stilled, waits until Taeyong’s calmed down before starting to move again.

“There you go,” Johnny says, when he eases in a third finger and brushes against Taeyong’s prostate again.

"Stop," Taeyong sobs, whacking the heel of his right foot against the hard muscle of Johnny’s back. “Oh my god, Johnny, stop, I’m gonna cum.”

“Go ahead.”

“I don’t want...from your fingers, I want—” Taeyong cuts himself off, swallowing heavily.

Johnny pauses all movement and tilts his head with a smirk. “Say it.”

“I want to cum with your cock inside me,” Taeyong says, voice weak. “Please, Johnny, just fuck me already.”

“How can I say no to that?” The mafia boss’ voice is husky, and the growl of it turns Taeyong on even more. His fingers gently slide out, leaving the younger feeling curiously empty. Taeyong peers up at him, and Johnny’s eyes sweep from his pink, twitching result of his handiwork to Taeyong’s flushed face. “You’re really fucking pretty,” he says simply.

“You don’t have to keep telling me that,” Taeyong mutters.

“Why not? You like it.”

This, Taeyong doesn’t deny and he stays quiet as Johnny grabs a condom from the nightstand. He pauses and looks at Taeyong, then throws the package at him. “Why don’t you put it on for me with your mouth?”

It lands on Taeyong’s chest, and he stares at Johnny, uncomprehending. Johnny motions at him to come closer. “Like this.” He rips open the package and places the tip of the condom on Taeyong’s puckered lips. One hand grips the back of Taeyong’s head to bring him down until he’s at the same level of Johnny’s dick. “You can use your fingers to pull the rest of it down.”

For a moment, Taeyong hesitates, peering owlishly at the sight in front of him. Johnny’s even bigger up close.

He tentatively parts his lips around the flared head of Johnny’s dick, then ducks his head down farther, pausing for another second to get used to the feeling. The taste of latex isn’t too pleasant, but it’s better than having a flavour, Taeyong supposes. Breathing carefully through his nose, he slides more of Johnny’s length into his mouth and down his throat. Another inch, and then another, until his eyes start to water. He chokes a little.

“Steady there,” Johnny says airily.

Taeyong narrows his eyes and relents, using his fingers to roll down the rest of the condom. There’s a small moment of pride when he realizes the disparity isn’t as much as he expected, especially considering the size of Johnny’s dick. He might be able to go further, one day, with some practice.

Taeyong comes off, looking up at Johnny for further instructions. His sight is slightly blurry from his teary eyes, but he doesn’t miss the way Johnny's entire demeanor darkens. He doesn’t say anything. Suddenly, Taeyong finds himself flipped onto his back, his wrists pinned above his head in Johnny’s solid grip as he leans over his smaller frame. Taeyong looks back at him with wide eyes, his heart pounding madly. This is really happening.

For a moment, Johnny softens. “You good?”

“Mm.”

“What was that?”

“ _Yes._ ”

So Johnny continues. With efficiency, he parts Taeyong’s cheeks with one hand and replaces his fingers with the blunt head of his cock. It bumps against Taeyong’s stretched asshole, and he clenches out of reflex. Johnny places a reassuring kiss on his forehead and Taeyong forces himself to relax, even if it’s only a little.

Johnny slowly presses in. Once the wide head of his cock sinks past the tightest part of him, Taeyong’s toes and legs unclench from their involuntary spasms, but he still can’t catch his breath. Johnny pauses halfway, his own damp breath stuttering and uneven against the side of Taeyong’s face. There’s no way he could go deeper. Taeyong doesn’t think it’s physically possible.

Except Johnny does, pushing forward again, surely, solidly, until he bottoms out, and Taeyong breathes out shakily. It hurts, but not as much as he had expected, more like a sweet ache that leaves him wanting more—to feel Johnny sliding his cock in and out of him, fucking him absolutely senseless.

“You still doing okay?” Johnny asks quietly.

“I’ll tell you if I’m not,” Taeyong replies, voice strained. “Just _go._ ”

“If you say so.”

Gently at first, Johnny fucks him. His hips move forward with an unstoppable certainty each time, driving every inch of his hot, hard shaft into Taeyong. The sensation of being filled this way is overwhelming, and Taeyong clings to the sensation of Johnny gripping him and the sound of his voice, anchoring him to the present moment.

It takes a few minutes but then, almost by accident, Johnny brushes against that sweet spot from within, and Taeyong convulses, letting out a throaty groan.

“Shit, come here,” Johnny hisses after a while, and withdraws, sliding out of Taeyong with a wet squelch that makes the younger’s cheeks burn. Johnny lets go of his wrists and hoists him up.

Taeyong straddles him—wow, this position is actually it—and Johnny holds his dick still with one hand as he helps ease Taeyong down with the other. The stretch is familiar but the way he’s being carried changes how Johnny feels inside of him. The angle is different, deeper too. Taeyong trembles when he sinks down all the way. His eyes flutter shut and he hugs Johnny’s neck, resting his head against the mafia boss’ head for a moment. “Okay,” he says finally, and meets Johnny’s gaze.

Johnny grins, although there’s a little something darker in his eyes that Taeyong wishes he could drag out. The mafia boss eases him up, then snaps his hips up at the same time he uses his grip on Taeyong’s hips to jerk him down. Another hard thrust has Taeyong arching his back, filthy moan escaping him. Johnny fucks into him so much harder now, almost every pass of his cock hitting that spot inside him.

Not even the sound of skin slapping against skin could embarrass Taeyong at this point—he’s way too far gone, every inch of his body feeling like it’s on fire. He pulls Johnny close and kisses him roughly in an attempt to bring him back to reality, but he quickly finds himself distracted, weak. Eventually, Taeyong stops trying completely and Johnny abandons his lips, pressing his mouth against Taeyong’s neck instead, his sharp teeth against Taeyong’s fluttering pulse.

“J-Johnny,” Taeyong stutters out, barely able to keep himself upright. “I’m gonna—”

Without a word, Johnny grabs Taeyong’s wet, leaking cock, trapped between their bodies. The combined feeling of Johnny’s curled fingers and palm along with the ceaseless push and pull of his dick inside him is enough to bring Taeyong over to the edge.

His eyes roll back and his legs tremble as he spatters their bellies with semen, the rest dribbling over Johnny’s fingers. Johnny cums soon after. His thrusts grow slow and deep as he milks his own orgasm, his cock still bucking inside Taeyong.

There isn’t a good way to vocalize his contentment when Johnny presses soothing kisses to the side of his neck and mutters sweet compliments as he comes back down, nor the incredibly sweet ache as he withdraws for the last time. Taeyong watches, dazed, as Johnny removes the condom and ties it off.

“How was it?” Johnny asks conversationally, as if discussing the weather. Taeyong almost hates how composed he sounds, but he’s too fucked-out to care. He flops back against the pillows, gazing at Johnny with half-closed lids.

“Pretty damn good,” he slurs sleepily. He laughs a little. “Not like I have a point of reference though.”

“I see. I had a good time too,” Johnny says, unoffended. He gets up, groaning as he stretches his muscles, and then disappears from Taeyong’s sight for a few minutes.

Not too worried, Taeyong lets his eyes fall shut, only vaguely aware of the damp and warm towel wiping him down. He rolls over onto his side when Johnny prompts him and sighs into the pillow. “For someone who kept on warning me it’ll be a bad idea, you’re awfully sweet,” Taeyong mumbles.

“Figured you’d want to take it slow for your first time,” Johnny says softly. His voice lowers in a way that makes Taeyong shiver. “Am I wrong?”

“Hm, no…but I wouldn’t mind it...rougher next time.”

Somewhere inside him, Taeyong knows there won’t be a next time, but he’s grateful when Johnny doesn’t refute him. There’s a small moment of silence as Johnny finishes up, and then lies next to him, looping his arms around Taeyong’s body. Taeyong settles against him, resting the back of his head against his chest.

“Tired?” Johnny asks.

At Taeyong’s nod, Johnny chuckles slightly. He combs a hand through Taeyong’s hair and places a teensy kiss against the curve of his cheek, right beneath his eye where his scar is. “Good night, my rose.”

Too exhausted to think anymore, Taeyong settles deeper into the bedding, curling comfortably against Johnny’s warm body. It doesn’t take long before he dozes off to the sound of Johnny’s soft breathing.

Inhale.

Exhale.

After what feels like no time, the faint scent of cigarettes drags him out of consciousness. Taeyong opens his eyes blearily, squinting into the room. In their earlier haste, he never realized the suite had a balcony. The black glass door is open, moonlight pouring in dim silver stripes across the carpet floor. A light gust of wind makes him shiver and he pulls the bed sheets tighter around him.

Johnny’s outside, leaning against the railing, with a pair of loose sweatpants slung at his hips. His back tattoo is on full display. The longer Taeyong stares, the more he swears he can see the ink move, the black dragon coiling around the rose, pulling it into a tight embrace regardless of the thorns pricking at its sides, staining it red with blood.

Taeyong opens his mouth to speak, but falters. He watches as Johnny tilts his head up and breathes out. A trail of wispy smoke curls into the night sky. The city traffic beneath them sounds muted.

The man smoking on the balcony is a mafia boss. He may have given Taeyong the best first time he could have ever wished for, but he still barely knows him. Doesn’t know if he can or wants to.

Johnny Seo is a stranger, and that’s all he’ll ever be.

The air is filled with unspoken words and feels strangely fragile, a fleeting memory to look back on later on. Taeyong lets his eyes flutter shut, too scared to break the silence between them. Maybe then, he can pretend this is all a dream. And like a dream, Johnny will be gone by tomorrow.

* * *

Taeyong wakes, not at all surprised to find the spot beside him empty. He gets up with a huge yawn, his muscles aching slightly from last night. It doesn’t hurt as much as he had expected though, and he suspects he has Johnny to thank for that.

There’s a note on the bedside table. The message, though short and succinct, confuses Taeyong. He hadn’t anticipated for Johnny to leave anything behind at all. Written in neat, elegant cursive writing, is an apology for leaving early, as well as a list of items Johnny had prepared for him—clean clothes for the day in the closet, breakfast on the dining table, Advil if he needs any. At the bottom of the note is a simple thank you along with the signature, _Johnny Seo._

There’s no further information on how to get in contact with him. It’s not surprising, but Taeyong would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit disappointed. He sets down the note, placing it beside the ashtray. He pauses, staring at the stubbed out cigarette and ashes.

Then he remembers it’s a fucking wednesday and he still has work. Checking the time and cursing softly, Taeyong hurries to the bathroom to get ready.

There’s a wad of cash hidden in the inner pocket of the suit Johnny leaves for him. Taeyong doesn’t notice it until he arrives at work. He counts the bills in the privacy of a bathroom stall, his eyebrows raising as the count gets higher and higher. He wants to feel angry or perhaps insulted, especially since he was the one who propositioned Johnny the second time, but at the same time, he’s kind of flattered.

Taeyong saves the money for another time.

Johnny nor any of his lackeys come back to visit Taeyong’s boss next week. Tuesdays resume its normalcy, blurring past like any other of the weekdays. Every lunch break, like clockwork, Beomseok sits beside Taeyong and invites him out to drink. It’s annoying, and Taeyong has a hunch that Beomseok’s persistence comes from the number of women that will finally be willing to tag along if Taeyong goes.

After the third week of no appearances from Johnny or the mafia, Taeyong relents. He breaks off a piece of his chocolate bar and sighs at Beomseok, interrupting him from his rant, something about the dubious nightclub he likes closing down due to a big scandal.

“I’ll go drinking with you guys tonight.”

“Oh, what, really? I knew you'd come around! I can’t wait to tell the others.” Beomseok grins victoriously and throws an arm around Taeyong, as if they’re friends and he isn’t using Taeyong to get more girls. Taeyong grimaces and gets up, shaking him off.

“Is Kim Doyoung going to be there?”

“Probably. The girls always invite him and that asshole never says no,” Beomseok sneers with a roll of the eyes. “Don’t worry though, Nari only has her eyes on you.”

“Hm,” is Taeyong’s only response before he leaves, throwing the chocolate wrapper in the trash on his way out.

There’s something he wants to try.

It’s Taeyong’s first time mingling with the others outside of work, and it causes a bit of a commotion. A lot of people Taeyong’s only seen in passing come to introduce themselves, and even though he knows most of them have a good intention, it doesn’t take long for his energy to deplete. Not only does he have to suffer through Beomseok’s incessant chatter, now increased tenfold with the help of soju and friends, but also his senior co-workers constantly try to get him to keep drinking. He knows it’s rude to reject them too often but he really doesn’t want to get drunk tonight.

They leave him alone after a while, focusing on the other young-looking and more willing intern at the other end of the table. Beomseok suggests a drinking game and soon it starts to get rowdy. Nari participates too, Taeyong notices, surrounded by her own friends, sneaking a few glances at him here and there but too shy to make a move. Taeyong can’t pay her much mind—not when his attention is directed elsewhere.

Kim Doyoung sits across from him. He looks even better in person, less pointy and more refined. He contributes enough to the conversation to be generally liked but never puts himself in the spotlight like Beomseok.

They don’t talk, but he doesn’t miss the way Doyoung gives him a long once-over before looking away. Taeyong’s pretty good at being able to tell when someone is attracted to him. Before Johnny, he would have pretended not to notice. Now, in a reckless mood, Taeyong downs another shot of soju. His whole body feels warm, a slight buzz coursing through his veins.

“You drink often?” he asks. He sees Doyoung eyeing the empty glass and then, when their gazes meet, Taeyong licks his bottom lip, watching in satisfaction as Doyoung’s gaze zeros in on his tongue and wet lips.

“Moderately,” Doyoung replies simply. He smiles and he gestures at Taeyong’s already flushed face. “You don’t.”

Taeyong lifts his shoulders delicately. “I wasn’t interested till now.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “What changed?”

“Let’s just say that I wanted to test something out,” Taeyong says vaguely. He settles back against his seat in semblance of trying to find a more comfortable position. His leg brushes across Doyoung’s, shifting back and forth before stopping, pressing against his inner thigh. Doyoung’s smile widens ever so slightly. 

“Which department are you in?” Doyoung asks.

“Finance. I’m here on a co-op program though, so I’ll be back to school in a bit.”

Doyoung hums, then pauses. Taeyong sees a brief flicker of horror pass through his eyes. “How old are you again?”

Taeyong can’t help but laugh. “I can’t be here if I’m underage,” he points out.

“Nineteen is still barely legal.”

“I’m twenty. Does that make you feel better?” Taeyong says and rolls his eyes when Doyoung visibly relaxes. He almost wants to push the matter—really, since when was nineteen and twenty such a big difference?—but he takes a sip of his glass instead and lets the pleasant fuzzy feeling wash over him as Doyoung continues the conversation.

At one point, they both quiet down, the hours trickling by with both of them remaining fairly sober, if not a little tipsy on Taeyong’s part. The same can’t be said for the rest of their co-workers, and Taeyong stifles a chuckle when Doyoung recoils from the guy beside him leaning into his space, alcohol sloshing dangerously in his glass. 

Doyoung turns back to Taeyong. He looks at Taeyong with half-lidded eyes, licking around a soju bottle’s opening before taking a swig—slow, slow, slow, to make sure Taeyong notices the way his throat works. He lets out a big exhale when he’s done, screwing his eyes shut for a moment. He slams the bottle back onto the table.

“I’m heading out,” he announces to the group. At the sound of protests, he clarifies, “Smoke break.”

He touches Taeyong’s shoulder when he passes.

Taeyong waits for a few minutes before grabbing his coat and getting up. His leave doesn’t go unnoticed, and Nari almost stumbles out of her seat before her friends pull her back down. They all stare at him and he smiles slightly, saying he’s going to the bathroom. No one mentions how he’s heading in the wrong direction.

Taeyong steps out into the night. Doyoung sits on the curb of the sidewalk, a cigarette between his lips. His eyes hook onto him and he digs into his pocket, taking out a nondescript pack of cigs.

“Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

The taxi ride to Doyoung’s place goes by quickly, the air too tense for much conversation. Doyoung flips him over onto the bed almost as soon as they stumble into his room. Taeyong doesn’t mind being manhandled. In fact, he wants Doyoung to hold him down, one hand on his hip, one around his throat, not quite cutting his air but putting enough pressure as a warning. Taeyoung wants all that and more, and Doyoung easily complies.

Doyoung smells like tobacco and expensive cologne, with just a hint of soju, and if Taeyong closes his eyes, he can almost picture broader shoulders—almost hear the sultry low voice of a certain mafia boss. He pushes the thought out of his mind, but it keeps on coming back, becoming the last thing he thinks of before drifting off to sleep.

It’s still dark when Taeyong slowly comes to consciousness, to the notes of a Billie Eilish song. It’s not his alarm—he prefers a dull, stern beep-beep to wake him up—but it’s persistent enough to prevent him from falling back to sleep. He opens his eyes, confused and disoriented because this is not his room, not his bed, and even the arm thrown over his hips isn’t his own.

He pushes it away and the bed shifts, the man next to him—Doyoung, still warm and smelling of sex—groans in his sleep, but Taeyong ignores him to get off the bed and tiptoe barefoot on the cold floor. He bumps into the drawer, the wall, the bed and the wall again as he follows the sound, his mind still too hazy to process what is happening and his body too warm and sluggish from sleep for him to control it fully. His body aches, but it’s a good burn.

Finally, his hands close on the hem of a coat—must be Doyoung’s—carelessly thrown on the table, and he blindly brushes his palm against the fabric until he finds a vibrating phone in the pocket. He turns off the alarm before blankly staring down at the screen. 5:30 am is a bit early for his taste.

“Hey,” a voice says. Taeyong looks up and finds Doyoung sitting up, squinting at him in the orange light of the streetlights outside.

Taeyong hesitates for a moment. “Hey.”

“The shower’s on the right,” Doyoung says, pointing languidly down the hall. “We can grab some McDonalds on the way to work too, if you want? My treat, since I’m older and all.”

Taeyong nods slowly, and Doyoung grins, his nose scrunching slightly. He rubs a hand through his hair and yawns. “Cool, then let’s get going.”

Doyoung’s a lot friendlier than Taeyong originally expected. He’s much more invested in current events and politics than Taeyong is, and is capable of talking for hours on end once he gets started. Although Taeyeong finds himself drifting off during their conversations more often than not, he appreciates the effort. After their one-night stand, he’d anticipated Doyoung to give him the cold shoulder, but the man never fails to greet him at work and even sits with him during lunch a couple of times.

“Hey, you piece of shit,” Doyoung says warmly when they bump into each other in the hallway. “Watch where you’re going.”

Taeyong stares up at Doyoung, unimpressed. “Not my fault you were in the way, dumbass,” he retorts, shoving back at Doyoung as he passes.

Some of their co-workers, Beomseok included, think that they hate each other. Taeyong never bothered correcting them—never told them that Doyoung’s bark is worse than his bite, and under his sarcastic tone and barbed comments, he probably, mostly likely, cares.

When Taeyong first admits to him that he only recently accepted his sexuality, Doyoung immediately invites him out to a gay club with a couple of his friends. Taeyong accepts, a strange sort of giddiness taking over him.

The weekend before the outing, they go shopping, specifically to get Taeyong more clubbing appropriate clothes. It’s a bit nerve-wracking at first, but all of the sales associates are super friendly and he doesn’t have to worry about the price tags when he can use the obnoxious amount of money Johnny left him.

(He feels a little guilty when he lies to Doyoung about getting allowance from his parents. For some reason, he doesn’t think he’ll approve of Taeyong hooking up with a mafia boss, even if he was very handsome.)

It’s in an Aritaum store, as Taeyong browses through various eyeshadow palettes with Doyoung hovering uselessly over his shoulder, where he meets Nari. Taeyong sees the moment it hits her, her brown eyes widening slightly at his new outfit, then shifting back and forth between him and Doyoung.

“Hi, Nari,” Taeyong says cautiously. Doyoung hums a greeting behind him.

“Hello,” says Nari, quickly regaining her composure. She smiles, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking at the palette in his hand. “I wouldn’t recommend getting that one. The colours are lovely but the quality isn’t there. It tends to crumble and doesn’t even last half a day...” She pauses, grimacing at herself. “Wait, I’m so sorry. Am I being annoying?”

“No, no,” Taeyong reassures, gently touching her arm to get her to stay. “Please help. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing and Doyoung isn’t any help either.”

Nari smiles again, this time more brightly. Contrary to her initial shy exterior, she’s extremely bubbly and talkative, like a walking ray of sunshine. She helps him pick out an eyeshadow palette among other items, and emphasizes on the importance of good makeup remover. By the time they leave, Taeyong has a new friend and someone to call if he messes up his makeup on Friday night.

“I never noticed how cute she was,” Doyoung comments, as Nari waves them goodbye before entering a cab.

Taeyong spares him a glance. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Doyoung replies. “Just saying.”

Taeyong hums curiously but leaves it alone.

Friday night comes with Taeyong in a nervous wreck. Despite Doyoung’s constant reassurance that he looks fine, Taeyong feels like a try-hard wearing a sheer shirt and tight jeans, eyes lined with kohl. It doesn’t help that all of Doyoung’s friends are intimidatingly attractive, very loud and outgoing. There’s five of them in total. Trying to integrate into a group that size might get kind of awkward, especially for someone like Taeyong. But then Yuta smiles and Jungwoo drapes himself over his shoulder and they all laugh at something Doyoung says, and something like relief crashes into Taeyong’s chest.

“What do you think so far? Not bad for your first time at a gay club, am I right?” Yuta says after, on the dance floor, his breath warm against Taeyong’s ear. It’s hot and sweaty and a lot of fun, but Taeyong wants more.

They’re both too drunk to really do more than sway together, a little too slow to match the beat of the music or the pace of the people around them. Taeyong swivels his hips back to grind against Yuta and he guesses that must be good enough as a response because Yuta immediately groans, fingers digging into his hips encouragingly.

They stumble to the bathroom at one point, just messy hand-jobs in the bathroom. They return to their group’s table with flushed faces to announce that they’re leaving. Everyone hoots and hollers as Yuta drags him out of the club, and the night ends with Taeyong having a growing appreciation of body piercings.

Contrary to the constant teasing around him, Taeyong is _not_ a slut. So what if he ends up hooking up with nearly everyone in Doyoung’s friend group, then some more? Not all of them end up well, but Taeyong takes those as a learning experience, with the truly bad ones shoved at the back of his mind. So far, Johnny remains his favourite even though they didn't do anything special, but Taeyong knows better than to dwell too long on that train of thought.

After enough outings to a variety of nightclubs, Taeyong begins to notice a pattern in Doyoung’s choice of partners. He doesn’t often go home with someone—and neither does Taeyong, really, _honestly_ —but when he does, they’re typically older, mature men or, more often than not, women. 

He brings it up when he takes Doyoung and Nari to his favourite diner, and this time, recognizes Doyoung’s lingering gaze on Nari as she heads to the bathroom.

“I’m like, not your type at all,” Taeyong says, taking a sip of his strawberry banana smoothie—on the house, courtesy of the cute waiter with the dimples.

“No, but you're pretty enough to be anyone’s type,” Doyoung says offhandedly, then scowls when he sees Taeyong’s growing smirk. “Plus, I was really, really drunk.”

“You really weren’t.” Taeyong elbows him in the side, and Doyoung elbows him back with double the force. “You know, I’m pretty sure Nari thinks we’re dating.”

“No, she doesn’t.” Doyoung wrinkles his nose at the thought. “I cleared that shit up with her as soon as I could. Said it was a one time thing, and that I’m also very much interested in the opposite sex.”

Taeyong plays with his straw contemplatively. “So, you gonna ask her out?”

“Only if you can get the waiter’s number. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at his ass the whole time.”

“Deal.”

It’s strange how much easier it is for Taeyong to flirt now that he’s grown more comfortable in his own skin. He doesn’t even need to say anything. All it takes is a pouty smile, a lean of the shoulders, and a lingering touch on the arm for him to get a number scrawled on the back of his receipt, followed by a simple _call me._

Taeyong preens, and Doyoung fake retches beside him.

(The cute waiter fucks well, all powerful and a little bit rough, with constant praise spilling through his lips. His length is pretty average but he’s _thick,_ and the stretch has Taeyong’s toes cracking with how hard he curls them. Taeyong puts on a show in return, arching off the bed so hard, he knows he’s going to have back pains the next day, crying out like he’ll die if he doesn’t get more, _harder, faster, yes, Jaehyun, yes yes yes._

He screws his eyes shut when he cums, and has to bite down on his bottom lip from calling out a different name. Like many others before him, Jaehyun is either gracious enough not to mention it or is too far gone to notice.

Taeyong figures it’s the latter when a week later, Jaehyun asks him out, ears bright red and a bouquet of lilies in his hands. It’s awkward, but he’s grateful at how easily Jaehyun takes the rejection, smiling and telling Taeyong to keep the flowers anyway.

Doyoung tells him Jaehyun is a missed opportunity, that he seems like the type of guy who would star as the lead actor in a k-drama, the type of boyfriend his mother would fawn over, sweet and charming and _honest._

But Taeyong can’t help it. He’s always had a thing for the villain.)

* * *

Taeyong buzzes with excitement on the last day of his co-op placement. If it weren’t for Doyoung and Nari, he isn’t sure he would have been able to make it through the entire eight months without taking a fork and stabbing it into Beomseok’s eye, then twisting it for good measure. The man grows more and more insufferable each day, and he can never seem to learn to take a fucking hint.

“For the last time, I’m not going drinking with you guys and I’m not interested in karaoke night,” Taeyong says, slamming his laptop shut when his co-worker leans over to talk to him again. He glances at his watch, pleased to find it nearly time for him to leave and never come back.

“But it’s your last day! You have to come, Yongie,” Beomseok protests, and Taeyong feels his eyebrow twitch at the chosen nickname. Only his mom calls him that. “I know that bastard Doyoung took Nari, but there’s a bunch of other girls who’re super into you. You know Dahee? She’s about your age and has a pair of really nice, big—”

“Seokie,” Taeyong says sweetly. “Stop pretending like you give a single fuck about my dating life when you just want to use me to attract more girls into coming.”

Beomseok frowns. “I don’t know why you’re acting so hostile. Shouldn’t you be happy that girls like you that much? You can literally pick and choose anyone.”

“Some of us are gay, asshole.”

Beomseok splutters like a fish out of water, his eyes blinking rapidly in confusion. He looks as if he’s been betrayed and just as he clears his throat to speak, Taeyong swivels on the back of his heels and leaves. He could care less about giving Beomseok any more attention, much less responding to his probably borderline homophobic response. The experience is freeing and he wishes he had done it earlier.

He meets up with Doyoung and Nari later, along with some other friends. Just their presence alone is better than any farewell party Beomseok could have thrown for him, but then they take him to his favourite club and Taeyong thinks he might love them.

No one knows the real reason why he likes The Budding Rose so much. When asked, Taeyong vaguely mentions the music and atmosphere, even though he often finds the songs a hit or miss and the lighting is shit, dark one second and blinding the next as discordant colours shift in pulsating waves.

It’s not the worst though, and Taeyong rolls his body to the rhythm of whatever EDM garbage is shaking the floor, tilting his head back and taking a long swig straight out of a bottle of overpriced whiskey that no one likes besides Doyoung. His friends cheer and bang on the table as if they’re enjoying a dance they bought at a strip club. With a giggle, Nari reaches out and stuffs a bill in his waistband. Doyoung swats her hand away in mock offense, and Taeyong laughs down at the group, feeling so happy and carefree in the moment.

And then he looks up.

The first time Taeyong visited The Budding Rose, he swore he saw Johnny in every corner. But that tall guy with the dark hair was actually a Sehun and the one with the unbuttoned suit and an undercut was a Lucas. Not that he’s complaining, because they were all very sexy and awesome in bed, but they weren’t _Johnny._

Taeyong’s aware that he’s treading a thin line between what’s considered normal versus obsessive, but that doesn’t stop him eyeing the back of a man with broad shoulders near the entrance of the club. His hair colour keeps on changing under the kaleidoscope lights, but Taeyong can tell it’s not black like Johnny’s. 

A part of Taeyong deflates, knowing he got the wrong guy again. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yuta and Sicheng share a knowing look, and they both take him by the arm and drag him out onto the dance floor. Jungwoo and Taeil follow closely behind. Taeyong doesn’t have to look back to know that Doyoung and Nari are too busy making out in the booth to notice them leaving.

Dancing has always been an escape for Taeyong, an opportunity for him to show off and let go of his worries. This time, he keeps himself at the centre of his friend group, comforted by their familiar presence.

“Honestly, Taeil,” Sicheng snorts when Taeil purposely dances off-beat to keep the mood up, “you dance like a Karen.”

“White woman at heart,” Taeyong adds, just to watch Taeil fluster for a response.

“I am not—How dare you say that?”

“And you talk like one too! Wow!”

Taeil rolls his eyes, but the movement has him catching something out of the corner of his vision.

“Uh.” He taps Taeyong’s shoulder and directs his gaze away from the dance floor. “Isn’t that guy totally your type? Tall, dark, and handsome? He’s been staring at you for a while.”

Taeyong’s heart skips a beat before he even turns around. His eyes land on the man in question, the same one with the broad shoulders—but now Taeyong can see the faded white scar at his temple and his chiseled jawline and plush lips. He does a double take.

Johnny Seo’s eyes flicker away just as quickly, leaning down to whisper to the shorter guy beside him. The guy’s cute, with curly hair and prominent cheekbones. He nods seriously every few seconds, then goes on his tippy toes to say something back.

Taeyong’s jealousy must be showing, because Taeil asks him if he’s okay and he has to school his features into a neutral expression, turning back briefly to nod. When he looks back, Johnny has already disappeared, and the curly-haired guy he was talking to slips into the bathroom. After a moment of consideration, Taeyong excuses himself. 

“On your way to give head?” Yuta teases.

“I’ll be back in five.”

“I hope he lasts longer than that!”

Taeyong rolls his eyes and flips a finger over his shoulder. He deflects unwanted advances on the way and wanders to the bathroom, pushing the slightly sticky door open.

There’s no Johnny, but the curly-haired guy is on the phone, speaking too softly in the corner to be heard over the echoing bass of the club music. Taeyong washes his hands, then fixes his leather jacket, pulling it closer over his mesh top. His eyeliner is smudged, but it’s a good look, honestly, so he doesn’t bother touching it.

He stares at his reflection as he waits, pursing his lips and re-applying some lip gloss. The guy’s voice suddenly increases in volume, high on panic based on what few words Taeyong catches, all in English.

“Johnny’s heading there right now.”

“Qian’s group?”

“...shit, it’s a trap.”

He ends the call after that last sentence and barely spares Taeyong a glance as he rushes out of the bathroom, muttering a string of curses under his breath. Taeyong doesn’t think twice before following.

He almost feels bad for leaving his friends at the club, but he figures he could text them not to worry if he doesn’t plan on coming back. The curly-haired guy never looks back, running down dimly lit streets with a sense of urgency that has even Taeyong holding his breath. The guy suddenly veers to the right, disappearing into the darkness, his shoes skidding against the pavement.

Taeyong slows down and cautiously approaches the mouth of the alley. The last time this happened, it was because Johnny had noticed he was being followed. Peeking behind the wall, he sees only shadows. Unlike last time, no one reaches out for him.

There are very few people around. Very little noise to cover that of low voices murmuring spiteful words. There must be four or five men including the one he had followed. He hears the curly-haired guy cry out a warning, followed by a bark of laughter from someone else.

Their voices are not so low anymore. Taeyong edges closer to see. In the dark of the alley, Johnny stands out more than any weapon the others have out, his hands busy fixing a long black cylinder to the mouth of his pistol.

He takes the first shots before anyone else could. Taeyong watches, strangely fascinated, as man after man falls with grunts of pain, with the muffled sound of gunshots. One of them howls and runs out of the alley. Taeyong only has enough of his bearings to remember to hide, but he isn’t quick enough; the man sees him, wild-eyed and furious, his shoulder bleeding profusely.

“Who the fuck are you?” he roars.

Taeyong doesn’t answer, his throat locked in place. He’s not sure if he’s breathing at all.

The man’s bleeding shoulder is his dominant arm—the one he holds his own gun with. With a howl of pain, he raises it and Taeyong can’t move and he realizes he might die at this very moment. He registers the sound of a gunshot, but nothing hits him. Instead, red blooms across the man’s chest and he falls to the ground.

Taeyong looks down at the body, his thoughts filled with static. A part of him feels like the normal reaction would be to throw up, but nothing comes up. He looks back up to the curly-haired guy staring at him, his arms trembling slightly as he holds up a gun. He’s around the same height as Taeyong but he looks even younger now that Taeyong can see him up close.

Taeyong shouldn’t look away, not when he has a gun pointed to his face, but he can’t help his eyes from wandering, to the tall figure walking towards them. In the lighting, he can tell Johnny’s hair is dyed a dark crimson red. The same shade of red that stains his shirt.

Johnny notices his gaze and gestures down at the blood. “Not mine.”

Something in Taeyong’s heart unclenches that he doesn’t realize has been clenched in the first place and he is mildly annoyed by the implication of that. Then Johnny deftly takes off the silencer from his pistol and slips it back into his holster. He’s looks so fucking hot and dangerous and Taeyong really needs to stop getting distracted.

“Mark, stop,” Johnny says in English as he approaches. “Let me deal with him.”

Slowly, Mark lowers his gun. “You sure?”

“Yeah, now go and check up on Hyuck. See if he got the information we needed.”

At that, Mark dips his head slightly and walks out of the alley, avoiding the bodies littering the ground. He turns back at the last second, eyes flickering back and forth between Taeyong and Johnny. He sighs, “Don’t take too long, John.”

Johnny simply laughs, switching back to Korean. “No promises.”

For a moment, Taeyong stands stock-still, even when it becomes apparent Johnny is waiting for him to speak. He spent so many months looking to catch even a glimpse of the mafia boss, but now that the very man is standing before him, with blood all over his shirt and his lips curved into his trademark smirk, Taeyong is at a loss of words.

“Lee Taeyong,” Johnny drawls, breaking the silence. He gives Taeyong a long once-over. “You look good.”

“You remember me?”

Johnny takes a step forward, raising his hand to cup Taeyong’s cheek. His thumb gently brushes over the scar beneath Taeyong’s eye. “My rose,” Johnny croons. His fingers wrap around Taeyong’s neck, metal rings cold against his skin, making him gasp just a little. “I could never forget someone as sweet as you.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either,” Taeyong breathes out.

“Yeah?” Johnny hums. He lets Taeyong go and takes a step back, spreading his arms out. His pistol glimmers beside the blood still fresh on his shirt. “You’re not scared anymore?”

Taeyong takes a step closer. “Not at all.”

His heart does a weird skip at their height difference. It feels even weirder when, just for a second, Johnny's smirk takes on a softer edge and his eyebrows quirk up in an expression that’s awkward, almost shy in contrast to the way he looked earlier. His eyes darken just as quickly, a sight that makes Taeyong's breath hitch in anticipation.

“Really? You sure?” Johnny says and pauses for so long that Taeyong thinks he’s done talking but then he leans down. “Why don’t you prove it?” Johnny slowly breathes each word against Taeyong’s lips.

Taeyong moves to close the fraction of distance left between them.

And it’s not until later, when he drops to his knees and Johnny starts to fuck into his mouth steadily, fingers tangled in his hair as Taeyong moans around him, tears pricking the corner of his eyes and jaw aching from the stretch, loving it so, _so_ much, that he’s suddenly reminded of a certain accusation from a jealous high school boy.

Well, Yongsik wasn’t wrong; Taeyong _does_ prefer sucking cock.

**Author's Note:**

> this was self-indulgent as fuck but still did not end up the way i wanted at all lmao.
> 
> anyway, kudos and comments are appreciated! thanks for reading till the end <3


End file.
